Absolutes
by csiphile
Summary: Based on the promo for the episode this week. What happens when Peter figures it out. P/O-ish. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Absolutes**

**Author: CSIphile**

**Rating: K**

**Summary: What happens after "The man from the other side" based on the promo from last week.**

**Disclaimer: No own-y.**

**AN: This will be a oneshot and is unbetaed so any mistakes are wholly mine. Based on the promo for this weeks Fringe, which, I'm hoping is going to be EPIC. Even though it's a oneshot, please review, they keep me inspired to write more. I should also be posting to Inquietude this week.**

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It had been two weeks since Walter had let the truth free. Two weeks since Peter disappeared from his hospital room in the middle of the night. Two weeks of hell.

She had tried everything she could to at least locate the wayward Bishop. She didn't even want to talk to him; she just needed to know he was ok. She needed to let Walter know he was ok. The older man had fallen off the deep end when they arrived at the hospital in the morning to find an empty bed and concerned nurses.

They had been admonished that Peter was in no condition after suffering a fairly serious concussion and bullet to the shoulder to be wandering around alone. As if they could have stopped him. Olivia was certain no force in ANY universe could have kept Peter Bishop in that bed another second.

He had done exactly what she expected. He ran. Somewhere deep inside herself she had hoped that the year and a half spent with his father – and her – would have diminished that rather discouraging flaw of his. Apparently not.

In the meantime Astrid had practically taken up residence in the Bishops home and it seemed her presence kept Walter from completely reverting into his own mind. She'd even managed to translate Walter-speak into English a few times. He was still able to help with the search and the one small case that had reared its head he dispatched of quickly enough.

Broyles had asked about the search several times, each time offering all the resources the FBI and Homeland Security had. And as far as they knew Peter Bishop was still in the country and would remain that way unless he figured out a way to radically alter his appearance. Somehow, though, Olivia knew he hadn't gone far. Maybe that was wishful thinking on her part.

And Olivia, she just kept going forward, knowing that nothing would have changed this outcome. Eventually Peter WAS going to find out where he was from, and he would run. These were absolutes. She was honestly surprised he waited since according to Walter at some point during the chase for Newton he figured it out on his own. She supposed he needed the confirmation. Maybe that was progress, minimal as it was.

Progress didn't make her hurt less. Didn't make the hole in her heart any smaller. She didn't consciously realize how much she came to depend on Peter until he was gone. Well, maybe she had an inkling that day she moved Broyles to speed dial 4 and Peter to 3 on her home phone. And the evening she desperately needed help and hadn't called Broyles – who was only one number away after all – her subconscious gave into it.

Everyone was skeptical of the flighty con artist when she brought him in; sure that Olivia Dunham had lost her mind to utilize someone so bitter and angry with the entire situation – and the man he was tasked with looking after. For a while there he had proven them all wrong, showed them that Peter Bishop could stay in one place, set down something resembling roots and actually make himself indispensible.

And then he disappeared and Olivia had to fight back the urge to punch something. She had a rogue FBI consultant with active credentials – that had taken every favor she had and some she didn't to convince them to give her time before they cut him off, she knew getting clearance back would be near impossible. Add to that a grief stricken mad scientist and an impending literal war of the worlds and she had the makings of an alcohol problem.

Ok, so she would give anything just to talk to him, just for a second. So she could apologize for how everything went down, explain herself. Not that it would matter. Peter knew how to hold a grudge and she knew he had a temper of immeasurable proportions. He would come back when he was good and ready and not a damn second earlier, and probably without warning. Again, wishful thinking. She refused to accept he wouldn't return, though Walter seemed convinced he was gone for good, reminding Olivia that Peter could disappear into a crowd of one, if he didn't want to be found, he wouldn't be.

The fact he disappeared in the middle of the night without leaving so much as a note seemed to lean the odds of return in Walters favor.

On the last day of the third week Olivia returned home after an excruciating case, opening her front door all she could think of was taking a bath and going to bed. Which was probably why she missed the fact her apartment wasn't completely empty. Tossing her coat onto the chair by the door her hand made it halfway to the light switch before a voice called out from the dark depths of her living room.

"Leave it off."

Thankfully her brain recognized the voice before her hand made it to her gun. Two thoughts ran simultaneously.

_Thank god._

_Jackass._

She wasn't sure which emotion to go with so she split the difference.

"I could have shot you."

The shrug came through even in the dark. "Not likely."

"I'm armed and you broke in. How do you figure?"

"I know you, Liv. You're more an ask questions first kind of girl."

She let out an exasperated sigh, as if his arrival hadn't affected her in the least – all the while her heart was hammering in her chest - and went for the light switch again.

"Leave it off," he repeated, this time more sternly.

"Fine," she said and moved toward him. Her eyes had adjusted enough and with the dim light from a street lamp she was at least able to read his expressions. For a moment she studied him, his facial hair was longer, the lines in his face harder, he looked defeated.

"Where have you been Peter?"

"Does it matter?" He asked bitterly.

"It does to me."

His shoulders slumped further and all she wanted to do was to hug the man who had so suddenly reappeared. Three weeks had been far too long.

"Around." Was his vague reply and she knew no more about his whereabouts was forthcoming.

"Are you ok?" Her voice was soft.

"I guess…considering."

His non-answers were starting to annoy her. "Peter…look, I know all the apologizing in the world won't make a bit of difference, but you have to know. I wanted to tell you. But it wasn't my secret to tell, it was Walters."

"I know."

Ok, that was it. "Why did you come back, Peter?"

"I missed this."

She was surprised by the answer, despite its brevity. Olivia didn't think Peter missed anything.

"Missed what? Investigating insanity, dealing with Walter or worrying about an interdimensional war?"

"You."

Now she was speechless. "Me?"

He merely shrugged. "I missed you, Olivia. Is it that hard to believe?"

Now she returned the shrug. "Considering how you left…"

"Do you blame me? Really?"

No, she didn't. How could she given what they had done, what they had kept from him. "No."

She heard the distinct sound of ice in a glass and she knew he had found the liquor cabinet. How long had he been waiting for her here?

"Where are you staying tonight?"

"Hadn't thought about it." The "not home" was unspoken and understood.

Without saying a word Olivia stood up and went into her bedroom, wondering the whole way if this was a terrible idea. Probably it was, but she was so thrilled to have him back the idea of watching him walk out that door made her sick. Besides, it was nearing midnight, they both needed the rest.

Returning to the living room, Peter had turned on a small lamp and in the dim light she could see his eyes, and his secret was out.

Honestly, how the man played poker with those baby blues was beyond her, they told her everything she needed to know, and right now that was he wasn't going anywhere.

She tossed the items in her hand to the man sitting on her couch and smirked as he caught the pillow and blanket with a confused expression.

"Couch is comfortable," she explained matter-of-factly. "You're welcome to use it a couple nights. Put your bag in the front closet."

"Thanks." He looked down sheepishly. "And for what it's worth, I'm sorry I left the way I did."

She nodded and headed toward the bathroom, her back to him. "We'll talk in the morning. You better not snore, Bishop."

A faint smile crossed his face.

Being here, with her.

In his world that was an absolute.

Fin

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	2. Chapter 2

AN: Ok, you win lovely readers. Many asked for more so I decided to do the fic from Peter's POV. Though I must admit I like Olivia's POV better, I seem to be able to get into her head easier. But that's probably because I have NO clue what Peter is actually thinking after TMFTOS. Again…this is unbeta-ed so any stupidity is mine alone.

AN2: And can I tell you, I actually am interested in seeing the musical ep. Yes, I admitted it. It looks…fun. Right now can't we all use a little fun? And really…it's a good way to keep Josh Jackson in the show without him magically reappearing the episode after he disappears – which would be hard to believe. That's creative storytelling people!

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It had taken him two hours after Walter left to insist he be allowed to check out of the hospital. The nurses were less than thrilled, but they couldn't exactly force him to stay. And there was no way he was staying. Staring at blank white walls with nothing to occupy his mind was starting to drive Peter crazy.

So he'd used the ATM in the hospital to get enough money to get him through for a bit then would figure it out like he always did. He also knew that Olivia – and the FBI – would be looking for him, so he got on a bus using a false last name. And since he had already told the person he was avoiding how he chose his identities, Peter got creative. He used hers. Seemed appropriate in a demented way.

So now Peter Hill sat in a small diner in a small town outside Buffalo, New York. The motel hadn't even blinked when he paid for a week cash with a questionable ID and his shoulder in a sling. Thankfully the bullet had gone all the way through, caused little damage but a lot of pain. He did miss that from the hospital, the painkillers.

He stared into his second coffee and contemplated. When that FBI agent vaporized into nothingness and he remained standing with the man from the other side, he knew what Walter had done. He had heard the story of how he was so sick as a boy enough now to know that THIS Peter had not lived to see his eighth birthday. But somehow he had.

Through all the anger and betrayal he felt toward Walter THAT was the thing his brain kept going back to, as if he was missing an important piece of the puzzle. Why had he survived a fatal genetic disease when his alter ego had not? Something had saved him, or someone. And he had his suspicions who that someone was.

As rain started to pour outside the diner's window the loneliness began to sink into his bones, which annoyed him. Peter Bishop had been accustomed to being alone, to moving every few months before he could form connections with people and places. It was who he was.

Was being the operative word.

Clearly the last year and a half had diminished that part of him, more than even he anticipated. The first couple days in nowhereville sucked, he was still furious. But as the anger dulled, questions took over and the isolation seeped in, he began to hate being by himself. Somewhere along the line he had gotten used to having people around him who cared.

He didn't doubt that Walter cared; actually, Peter suspected he cared TOO much.

Then there was her. Olivia. He had tried so very hard to not think about her. Because once his head cleared he realized she must have known, after Jacksonville and the Coretexiphan, there was no way he wasn't glimmering, or whatever the hell he looked like. Probably explained her behavior during and after drinks that night. She hadn't been avoiding him because of the near-kiss, but because she had inadvertently been pulled into Walters lie.

So every day he sat in his motel room alone with nothing to occupy him - no cases to run, no leads to track, no bad guys to get. The idea of finding Newton was highly appealing initially so for the first week he keep an eye on the news, specifically reports of anything…Fringe-y. Then he realized that even if he COULD locate the man, what was he going to do? Ask for his return ticket? That would not be an improvement over his current situation.

Every once in a while he had the urge to call her. Or at least text so she – and Walter by default – would at least know he was ok. And there it was, the crux of his problem, he was actually concerned about Walter and his state of mind, Peter could only imagine the state the older Bishop was in and it bothered him. Two years ago Walters mental status meant little to nothing to him. But now… Shit, he had called the old man "Dad" for the first time in 20 odd years mere hours before his world shattered.

And yet, the idea of actually coming face to face with Walter was incomprehensible. He had no idea what he would even say to the older Bishop. Forgive him his trespasses or hold a grudge – he leaned toward holding a grudge. Of course, the last time he held onto that emotion seventeen years had passed, seventeen years of poor choices and stupidity.

Furthermore, he knew the second the battery went back in that cell and it was turned on, every satellite the FBI had access to would be beaming his location to Olivia.

When he went back – and yes, it was a when, not an if – it would be on his terms.

Predictably, the when came sooner than he anticipated – and he had been thwarted by his own subconscious. Over the course of 5 days he changed motels twice, each move taking him that much closer to Boston. Though later he would admit his conscious had more to do with it than he acknowledged. So did she. He wasn't moving closer to Boston so the inevitable confrontation with his father would happen, he was moving closer to her.

He practically ached for and did miss her. Only her.

He arrived a little after eight at her apartment after some creative modes of transportation to avoid detection and was not surprised to find her not home. The lock was quickly picked and he made himself at home.

Having time to kill, Peter wandered around her apartment, taking in the things he normally glossed over. The pictures of Rachel and Ella, a couple with her in them, happy and smiling. The books on the bookshelf – predictably all forensic or psychology related, though there was an occasional true crime. The assorted knick knacks one acquired after a lifetime.

This was what he craved. Home. Stability. And he hadn't even realized he wanted it until fate allowed him a small taste. Even if this side wasn't technically his "home", it was all he knew.

During his travels he stumbled upon her nicely stocked liquor cabinet and poured a small glass of scotch. With the first sip the cheeriness of the apartment bothered him and he turned out the lights, sinking the room and his mood back into darkness.

Suddenly he couldn't fathom why he came back. Why he would open himself up to hurt and betrayal again? Was the abstract concept of home and family that powerful?

Yes, it was.

He snorted at that as the key turned in the lock.

It was then he realized he wasn't sure exactly what to say to Olivia. About where he had been and what he had done.

So he kept his answers frustratingly brief. Until she asked why he was back, then he had to tell the truth.

"I missed you, Olivia." Truer words had never been spoken, even if she didn't believe them.

When a pillow and blanket were practically thrown it at him, it was all he could do to restrain the smile.

Lying there in her apartment, hearing her small movements in the stillness, he felt complete, anchored to this place even if he didn't necessarily belong here. No, he corrected himself, he did belong.

And no, he didn't snore.

But in the morning he did talk.

Fin

Continue to feed the writer by leaving a review. Look what it got you the last time. An extra chapter! And also...the meaning of Dunham comes from a hill in England, so there you go!


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